


Let Somebody In

by Ammeh



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, Polyamory, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammeh/pseuds/Ammeh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Formerly posted as "Minority Rules")</p><p>Isabela makes it her mission to have a threesome with Fenris and Hawke.  She succeeds admirably, but there might be more emotions going on than she was anticipating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Somebody In

**Author's Note:**

> A fic stemming from my firm belief that you should totally be able to have a three-way-relationship with Isabela and Fenris in game. (I mean seriously Bioware it is like 10x more legit than Silk Fox and Dawn Star.)
> 
> Posted for-fucking-ever-ago on the DA kink meme, hence the backdating. I posted it as "Minority Rules," but that was mostly because I'd just posted another threesome fic called "Majority Rules" on a kink meme for a different fandom and thought it would be hilarious if someone got the reference. When I posted it to my journal it seemed a little weird to have two fics with such similar titles, so I retitled it after a line from a song that kind of resonates with Isabela's character for me. (The song is "For Jenny" by Half Looking, which is a band my mom's coworker was in when I was a kid in the 90's but apparently the song is somehow on the internet anyway if you want to look it up.)

Isabela could stare at that ass all day.

She _did_ , sometimes, long days of running do-good errands from the Keep down to the Undercity made enjoyable by the constant presence of Hawke’s pert, swaying rear a few steps ahead.  Those mage robes were positively _indecent—_ and it wasn’t just her, either!  She’d seen Varric give Hawke’s behind many a subtle, admiring glance, and Fenris give it some far-less-subtle stares.  (To be fair, Varric did have the advantage of height for concealing such leers.)

The view was no less appealing from the front—Isabela had lost count of the number of times that passing templar had suspiciously approached the staff-carrying young woman, only to have Hawke stand up a little straighter, subtly push her chest out—then she’d bow her head a little, look up coyly through those long lashes as she asked how she could help.  The templars would blink, flush, and ask, stutteringly, whether she knew anything about the Mage Underground.

“ _Never heard of it_ ,” Hawke would say, straightfaced, boots still muddy from leading apostates through the tunnels under the Gallows.

“ _Sorry to bother you then, miss_ ,” they would stammer, taking one last look at her chest before leaving.

Those templar who did not fall prey to Hawke’s clinging mage robes were easily charmed by the combined efforts of Varric and Fenris…now there was a pair Isabela would love to just have tie her up and _talk_ at her for hours (preferably erotic stories, but she wasn’t picky) and many templar seemed to agree.  Not to say that their appeal was purely auditory—watching Varric carefully lube Bianca’s rail always brought on copious fantasies involving him, oil, and far less clothing, and Fenris was just _delicious_.  Those eyes, those tattoos, that tensely relaxed posture that made him look like a panther ready to pounce… _mmm_.

It was common knowledge that Hawke agreed with her on this front.  _Everyone_ knew they’d had one off together years ago—and Isabela _knew_ they should have had more, that something had gone wrong, but Hawke refused to speak a word on the matter.  Maker knew, she’d tried to get them together, but they’d continued to stubbornly ignore whatever had happened between them—but not for much longer, Isabela guessed.  With Danarius dead, that spark that had been sizzling awkwardly between the two of them for years had roared up into a blaze.  At this rate, it was only a matter of days.

\--

Isabela gave herself a silent pat on the back when she next saw Hawke, three days later—unable to stop smiling, walking with more care than normal, and Fenris hovering behind her like a jealous husband.  She was content with it then, to be honest.  The thought of them together was incredibly titillating, certainly, and she may have fantasized about watching a time or two…or all night…but she had experience with people and their _relationships_ and their ridiculous _not wanting to share_.

It wasn’t until several months later that things changed.  A strategically-planned visit to Hawke caught them _in flagrante delicto_ —Hawke shoved up against the wall, the tiny golden buttons of her robe’s bodice unfastened and the purple cloth covering her breasts shoved down to reveal some of the loveliest tits Isabela had ever seen—Fenris shirtless, the intricate web of faintly glowing tattoos on his back even more beautiful than she’d imagined, his face buried in Hawke’s neck—her legs wrapped around his waist, skirts hoisted up around her hips as he slammed into her.

And Isabela realized— _she needed to be in the middle of that_.

She slipped back out unnoticed, and promptly began plotting ways to accomplish this.

\--

Her first plan was to show off her figure, let them know what they were missing, but having commandeered the mirror in Varric’s quarters for a thorough inspection of herself, she decided that she really couldn’t show off her figure any more than she already was without getting hauled in by the city guard for public indecency.  ( _Although_ , if it were Aveline, it could be worth it…she filed the thought away for further contemplation in the privacy of her own quarters.)

\--

Her second plan involved accidentally-on-purpose bumping into Hawke’s luscious curves whenever she got the opportunity (Fenris’ armor was a bit too spiky to extend the plan to him as well, unfortunately.)  The fifth time it happened, Fenris wrapped an arm around Hawke’s deliciously narrow waist, fixed Isabela with a piercing stare, and _growled_ in a way that strengthened her resolve tenfold.  She was _having_ this threesome, whether they liked it or not.

\--

Plans three and four were executed in concurrence—strip-diamondback, and a bottle of potent Antivan brandy (looted off a dead mercenary, though she wasn’t mentioning that part for fear it would kill the mood.)  Safely tucked away in Varric’s suite, she had contrived to lose her own shirt, and was currently cheating Hawke out of her own.  No sooner had the woman’s hands gone to her buttons, however, than Fenris stood, grabbed her arm, and pulled her from the room without so much as a by-your-leave.

Merrill stayed, and proceeded to lose spectacularly, so the night wasn’t a total loss, but _still_.  No progress.  Perhaps a more direct approach was in order.

\--

“So, do you remember that ex-Crow we met?  Zevran?”

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“I once had a threesome with him and the Hero of Fereldan.  It’s one of my favorite things to do, you know.  Have threesomes with gorgeous heroes and their tattooed elven lovers.”

Fenris stepped closer to Hawke and looked at Isabela suspiciously, but Hawke’s eyes were dancing.

“Is it now?” she asked, lips quirking.  “I’ll have to remember that.”

\--

For all her planning, she was not prepared for Fenris to storm into her room at the Hanged Man and pin her against the wall, gaze so intense she felt dampness unfurl between her thighs at the heat of it.  When he spoke, though, his voice was tight with fury, not lust.

“ _Stop flirting with her_ ,” he growled.

Isabela, who had always found her self-preservation instincts lacking in the face of sexiness, raised her eyebrows.  “Who?  I flirt with a lot of people, you know.”

“Hawke.  It’s taken us too long to get here, and I will _not_ have you steal her away.”

Isabela laughed.  “Is _that_ what you think I’ve been trying to do? Steal her away?”

“Your intentions are obvious,” Fenris gritted out.  Isabela felt her restraint in not groping him yet was quite admirable.

“Apparently not,” she said, lips quirked.  “While I _have_ been flirting with Hawke, I was rather hoping the two of you would come as a package deal.”

Fenris frowned slightly. “I have…heard of such things.”

“So what do you say?  You, me, Hawke, the Amell estate master bedroom?”

“You…raise an interesting point.  I’ll have to consider it.”

\--

To Isabela’s great disappointment, Hawke and Fenris did not break into her room that night and have their wicked way with her.  The next day, however, the atmosphere was totally changed—Hawke, who had always been good at keeping her eyes _up_ while talking to Isabela, suddenly started directing her comments at Isabela’s cleavage, though the glint in her eye suggested she might have been aware of this.  Further, the suspicious glares Fenris had been directing at her lately had been replaced by contemplative glances.  The seed had been planted, definitely… but Isabela wasn’t about to wait around hoping for it to sprout.  Time for some watering…but how?

It was finding a copy of Anders’ manifesto tucked down the side of her boot that gave her the idea.  Three hours later, she had a thorough delineation of the reasons why regular threesomes would be in the best interests of everyone involved.  She’d also just spent three hours thinking about said threesomes, which was inspiring in a way that ordered points just couldn’t convey… Flipping the page over, she began a more _creative_ argument.

\--

A good moment to present it did not arrive until later that week, when she invited herself to the weekly diamondback game at the Amell estate between Varric, Fenris, and Hawke’s mabari.  Hawke walked up as she arrived, and the mabari left with a sulky whimper after she commandeered the deck and declared that they were playing Wicked Grace.  Reasoning that Fenris seemed to need the most convincing, she dealt her manifesto to him along with his hand in true Anders fashion.  Hawke took one look over his shoulder at Isabela’s loopy, slanted handwriting and began reading aloud, to Fenris’ almost imperceptible relief.

She kept a straight face through the detailed description of Isabela’s physical assets, but a blush began creeping onto her cheeks as she came to the records for number of orgasms bestowed in one night.  Fenris was clearly not quite sure what to make of this—face redder than Hawke’s, his expression was at once awkward and intrigued, with a hint of _does Varric **really**_ _have to be present for this?_ (This last disappeared when Varric slipped off during point 3b, which assured them of the regularity of Isabela’s check-ups at Anders’ clinic.)

Hawke finally broke her cool and giggled awkwardly as she came to the section enumerating the various benefits of sex with Isabela, which included mind-blowing pleasure, stress relief, technique enhancement, bragging rights, and networking.  (Fenris looked distinctly unimpressed with these last two.)

\--

“… _which, in conclusion, would be a fucking brilliant idea, and involve some brilliant fucking_ ,” Hawke finished decisively, lips twitching.  “You’ve clearly put a great deal of thought into this, Isabela.”

“More than that, even,” Fenris stated, brows raised.  “There’s more on the back.”

Hawke flipped the paper over, blush creeping down to her neck as she glanced over the contents.

“Well?” Isabela said impatiently.  Hawke cleared her throat and began to read.

 _“The Champion moaned around Fenris’ turgid staff, her fourth orgasm of the night leaving her sodden, ripe for the penetration of Isabela’s talented fingers.  Isabela bit at the perfect curve of her rear, thrusting her thumb roughly into the dripping silken channel.  Fenris groaned, his chest glistening enticingly in the firelight, his thick member gleaming with saliva as he withdrew only to come in messy spurts over Isabela’s lush breasts—”_ she trailed off, dissolving into laughter.  “Isabela!  I can’t believe—well, I _can_ believe, but you—!”

“What?  Nothing strange about a bit of friend-fiction!” Isabela said, pouting.  “It was supposed to be _sexy_ , not _funny_.”

“Perhaps you should use fewer adjectives?” Fenris suggested evenly, face impassive but for the violent blush.

\--

“I must say, Isabela, you present a very compelling case.”

“Thank you.”

“And I hate to tell you that you put in all that work for nothing…”

Isabela frowned sulkily.  “Yes?”

“…But Fenris and I already discussed this last night.”

“You won’t reconsider in light of my arguments?” Isabela asked plaintively.  Fenris snorted.

“…And we _decided_ ,” Hawke continued, “that we’d like to give it a try.”

“Depending on how it goes, we might give it multiple tries,” Fenris added.

Isabela looked at them skeptically. “If you’re joking about this, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“Would we be that cruel, Isabela?” Hawke asked, eyes twinkling.

“You had better not be.”

“We’re not,” Fenris said.  “We’re serious.”

Isabela lit up, pushing back her chair and standing.  “Let’s see then…is right now a good time for you?”

“It is, actually.”  Hawke narrowed her eyes suspiciously.  “Is _that_ why you suddenly decided it would be brilliant for Orana to have a sleepover with Merrill?”

“Well, it _will_ be good for her.  But yes, that might have had something to do with it.  Nothing wrong with being hopeful.”

“Not when your hopes are correct, at least,” Fenris commented.  “Though I do think you could have found a safer place to send her than _the home of a blood mage_.”

Hawke gave him a _look_.  It was a special look that Isabela had only seen directed at Fenris—all at once disappointed and scolding and _really-I-expected-better-of-you_ with a touch of something soft and shmoopy and understanding which Isabela doubted Hawke knew she was adding.

He winced, looking guiltily down at the table with a slight pout.  Isabela had always found it adorable, that trace of vulnerability flickering over his sharp features before he hid it back inside—some giddy girly part of her had always wanted to kiss that tiny moue off his lips, and so she did.  Bending down slowly lest they bring up some strange rule like ‘ _No kissing_ ’ or ‘ _Not in my house’_ or ‘ _He doesn’t get to stick it in you_ ’ (All right, that last wasn’t really a concern yet, but it was alarmingly common.  Really, why have a threesome at all if you were clearly so hung up about the concept?), she placed a hand on his cheek and leaned in for the kind of tender-slow kiss that she would never admit to adoring in public.  She had an image to maintain, and it involved hard, fast fucks in storage closets, none of the gentle lingering liplocks that made people think that you _cared_ about them.

But this was Fenris, and this was Hawke, and so she let herself, let her lips brush over his soft and warm and dreamy as Hawke lifted the daggers off her back and set them on the table, next to the cards and what looked to be some excellent wine.

 ** _This_** _is why you don’t do this, Isabela,_ she told herself.  _Don’t leave yourself room to think, about the cards or the wine or whether they’ll treat you differently tomorrow._ And then Fenris was kissing her back, kissing her like he kissed Hawke whose lips were nibbling gently at her ear, kissing a line down her jaw to where her face met Fenris’ and bridging the gap, kissing his face and neck and ears as Isabela slid her tongue into his mouth.

Hawke’s fingers brushed teasingly over the laces of her shirt, plucking lightly at the knots that held it in place while making only the barest flickers of contact with the skin below—and then all at once she hooked her finger in the lacing and _pulled_ , soft linen falling away to reveal the reinforced leather corset underneath.

Hawke laughed softly.  “So _that’s_ how you keep them up,” she murmured, tracing the edge of the corset with a fingertip before dipping below to toy with the silken lining.

“It helps me avoid getting stabbed, as well,” Isabela mumbled into Fenris’ lips as she caught one of his hands—bare for once—and guided it to the sturdy buckles holding the thing in place.

Hawke’s buttons were really too small and delicate to undo one-handed, and so Isabela broke the kiss, turning her attention instead to Hawke’s busom, where she encountered less resistance than expected.  The fastenings were small, yes, and there were really more of them than strictly necessary, but they were no match for a woman who could extract the rebellious daughters of Orlesian nobles from their finery in under five minutes.

And Hawke’s collarbone really shouldn’t be as exciting as it was.  Isabela saw bare chests all the time.  When asked about her own manner of dress, she would often smirk and comment that she liked the view—she did, and she liked it even better on other people, but it was old news.  She should be jaded and desensitized, and yet here she was lusting over Hawke’s collarbone like a cloistered Chantry brother salivating at the barest flash of ankle.

She bit the offending collarbone admonishingly before turning her attention downwards to bolder pursuits, mouthing at the stiff peaks of Hawke’s nipples through the violet fabric of her underclothes.  She felt her corset loosen as Fenris undid the final buckle, felt him coax it off her with one hand even as he reached up and tugged down the cloth over Hawke’s breasts with the other.

Hawke’s tits were as lovely up close as they had looked from a distance, full and perky with pretty little nipples.  Isabela kissed her way down one supple curve, nibbled teasingly at Fenris’ fingertips as he kneaded Hawke’s breasts with one hand, the other skimming tentatively over her own.  She rested a hand on his thigh and leaned closer, pushing her chest firmly against his palm.

He took the hint and cupped her breast more assertively, teasing at her nipple with his thumbnail.  She purred appreciatively, fingers creeping further up his thigh until she could faintly feel the heat of his groin through the cloth of his wonderfully tight leggings.  “ _Like a skittish colt_ ,” Hawke had groaned years ago, thoroughly drunk and determined to be miserable despite Isabela’s best efforts to coax her to the Rose for a morale boost _._ He didn’t _look_ uncomfortable, and she had no idea whether this “skittishness” had been what kept them apart for three years, but if Fenris would leave a woman like Hawke after one night together, he clearly had some intimacy issues.  And she was no Hawke, responsible and altruistic and with Fenris thoroughly in love with her.  She was quite capable of fucking this up beyond all belief.

 _It’s sex,_ she reminded herself.  _Sex, stealing, sailing and stabbing—that’s what you’re good at_.  But she’d lost the book and she’d crashed her ship and she could never get through the armor on those fucking Templars and this _would_ be the next thing, wouldn’t it?  But Fenris didn’t flinch and he was touching her and _fuck it, just **do**_.

“You’re far too clothed, Fenris,” Hawke moaned, reaching awkwardly over to tug feebly at the straps holding his armor in place.  (Isabela had often considered teasing him for always wearing a breastplate to casual gatherings, but then he might stop, and he looked positively _tasty_ in it.)

Haphazard yanking ineffective, Hawke bent closer to get a better angle at the straps.  The movement put her chest right in Isabela’s face, in what would have been a lovely view were it not for the open flaps of her robe bodice falling forward to block it.  Isabela reached down to grab the hem of Hawke’s robes and lifted them slowly up her legs, trailing her fingertips along thighs she had never known were so shapely.

Hawke’s ass was _magnificent_. Pert and round and tight, framed by beribboned lavender knickers in a way that made her want to do all sorts of naughty things to it.  She could stare at that rear every day for the rest of her life without getting tired of it…or the person it was attached to— _stop. Ass.  Here.  Now._

She gave both cheeks an approving squeeze, pressing a finger into the cleft between them to rub the soft cotton against the tight little pucker of Hawke’s ass.  She wondered if Fenris had ever taken her there, his cock parting the taut cheeks, working her cunt with his fingers as he thrust into her rear.  It would really be a travesty if he didn’t…Hawke’s ass was just _made_ to be fucked.  She’d have to point this out if it hadn’t occurred to them.

When she looked back up, Fenris’s chest was bare, his breastplate in a pile on the table as Hawke traced his tattoos with her fingers, leaving fading trails of light in their wake.

“Arms up,” she instructed Hawke, hoisting her robes up around her waist, and over her head as she reluctantly removed her hands from Fenris’ chest to comply.  Isabela tossed the robes carelessly onto the table before running eager hands up the smooth curves of Hawke’s bare skin, feeling her and watching Fenris as Hawke caressed his chest and shoulders.   His hand joined hers on Hawke’s stomach, dipping down to cup the apex of her thighs even as his other hand curved around Isabela’s own hip.

“Maybe we should take this to the bedroom?” Hawke breathed, pushing forward into Fenris’ hand.

Fenris frowned.  “If we’re going to the bedroom, would it not have been better to do it while we were still fully clothed?”

“If Bodahn and Sandal didn’t leave with Varric, he’ll owe me a _lot_ of beers,” Isabela said with a smirk.

Fenris looked less, rather than more, reassured.  “Was this a plot?”

Isabela laughed.  “Hardly.  Varric just knows how to take care of a girl in need.”  She extracted herself  and sauntered towards the door, bare breasts jiggling, and opened it a crack to peer into the main room.  “Coast is clear.  I’ll go first if you’re squeamish.”

Hawke picked up her robes and held them in front of her in a display of modesty that Isabela found rather charming, scurrying off to the bedroom with red cheeks.  Fenris followed, less concerned about the bare state of his chest, but one hand held awkwardly in front of the crotch of his leggings.

Nobility always had such _lovely_ mattresses.  Isabela moaned in appreciation as she threw herself back onto it, raising one leg to unbuckle her boots.  When she finally got a ship, she was getting one of these luxurious thick mattresses for the Captain’s quarters.

…It would be any day now.  She was _on it_.  She just needed…someone to walk up to her and offer her a free ship.  A _good_ ship, none of those sorry little galleys sharing docks down in Lowtown.  She’d settle for nothing less.

Any day now.  Really.

Fenris sat down on the bed, clearing his throat.  “Before we go any further, I should warn you.  Hawke sort of… leaks magic when she orgasms.”

“Leaks magic?” Isabela repeated bemusedly, brows raised.

Hawke flushed brilliantly.  “I can’t help it!  It’s…my concentration goes, and all the sensation, and the rush, and the lyrium…”

“So…you’re saying that Fenris’ tattoos make you come fireballs.”

Hawke laughed, the awkwardness on her face diminishing.  “Nothing so finessed.  Just…raw magical energy.”

“Raw magical— _oh!_ You mean that stuff you’re always whipping out to show paranoid little runaway apprentices you’re not working for the Templars?”

Fenris sneered. “Yes.  _That._ ”

Hawke ignored him.  “Yes.  It’s harmless.  Slightly tingly, but it will hardly set the bed alight.”

“Or the wall,” Isabela said, recalling what she’d seen of their previous encounter.

Hawke eyed her quizzically.  “Or the wall,” she agreed.  “And _besides_ ,” she continued, turning to Fenris, “you _glow._ The _whole time_ , so don’t make it out like _I’m_ the only one who’s strange.”

Fenris flushed.  “Just…don’t be alarmed if there are any unexpected flashes of blue light.”

\--

To Isabela’s slight disappointment, Fenris’ tattoos did not wrap around his cock.  Instead, they traced the vee of his groin, ending in slight curls, and swirled around his thighs from the side.  Not that his cock wasn’t impressive enough on its own, but she’d had _fantasies_ , dammit.  Fantasies about glistening, lyrium-covered chests and cocks.

Hawke, naked and lovely, sat in his lap, scooting back to nestle his prick snugly between the cheeks of her rear before wrapping her arms around Isabela’s neck and pulling her close for a kiss, their breasts squishing together delightfully.  She moaned loudly as Fenris wrapped an arm around her waist and slid his hand between her thighs, his fingers delving into her slit before drawing away, slick.

“You’re wet,” he growled, holding his fingers up for inspection.  “Is it for Isabela, or me?”

“Both,” Hawke gasped, throwing her head back as Isabela broke the kiss to lave her tongue over Fenris’ fingers.  “Fuck me?  Please?”

Isabela slid her hand between Hawke’s legs as she lifted herself up, holding her open as Fenris leaned back and pulled her down onto his cock.  She stroked down his length teasingly as it brushed against her fingers, flicking her thumb over Hawke’s clit on the way.

And then they were fucking _right in front of her_ and it was so much better than the last time, because she could _touch_ —Fenris’ lean whipcord muscle, Hawke’s toned limbs and soft curves and the cute little pearl of her clit an inch from the base of his cock.

They were looking at her though, a bit puzzled.

“So, um…” Hawke began.  “What do we…”

Ah yes.  Threesome virgins.  So adorable.

“Spread your legs more,” Isabela purred, running a hand down her thigh.  “And lie back, onto Fenris.”  Hawke gave her a dubious look, and she chuckled.  “You won’t crush him.  But hold yourself up on your elbows, if you’re so worried.”

Fenris gave a noise of vague affront at the suggestion that Hawke do anything of the sort, and wrapped an arm under her breasts, pulling her down on top of him as he lie against the bed.  Hawke spread her legs wide, thighs trembling in anticipation, and Isabela leaned forward, letting her breath ghost hotly over her folds, lips just barely short of making contact.

Hawke whimpered.

Isabela smirked and _licked_ , one broad swathe from just above Fenris’ balls to the top of Hawke’s slit—musk sliding into salty slick, soft groan merging into breathy gasp.  Fenris thrust up, a bit uncertainly, and Isabela grabbed Hawke’s hips and held her there, guiding their rhythm with hands and tongue as she lapped at the place of their joining.

Hawke came within minutes, Fade-light shimmering around her fingers clutching at the bedding as Fenris’ tattoos _blazed_.  (Isabela was not entirely sure which happened first, having been rather occupied.)  The light faded, but Fenris’ glow didn’t let up and he bucked upwards with sudden vigor, no longer letting Isabela set the pace of his thrusts.  She brought her head up, trailing kisses up Hawke’s thigh until the owner of said thigh pulled her up onto the bed, hands running questingly down her torso to slip between her folds.

Fenris seemed to have other ideas, however, guiding Hawke back into a sitting position and pulling Isabela up further to kneel by his head—and then, with some further tugging and a few muttered Tevinter curses and an adorable blush that evidenced the fact that he was still too shy about this to just tell them what to do—to straddle his face.

Hawke giggled, letting Fenris slide out of her and turning to face Isabela before pushing herself down onto his cock.  It was… _cute_ for a moment, tentative tongue between her legs, Hawke almost losing her balance as she reached for Isabela’s tits—and then they found their pace and cute turned into erotic which turned into _mmmm_.

“You eat twat like a woman, Fenris,” she moaned, pressing down against the firm strokes of his tongue as she thrust her chest forward to give Hawke better access to her breasts.

“That _must_ be a compliment,” Hawke purred, kneading Isabela’s tits as she worked herself up and down with her thighs.

“Mm-hmm,” she confirmed, closing her eyes in satisfaction.  “It’s all about… _enjoying the journey_ , rather than focusing on the destination.”

“You’ll have to teach me some time.”  She could feel Hawke’s smile against her neck, promises whispered into her skin, Fenris’ hands clutching her thighs as though he had no intention of letting her go anytime soon, and some dreamy-delusional part of her head got a notion that this would be much more _permanent_ than she knew it was.  One night, she told it firmly.  Maybe a few nights, if she was lucky.  But it wouldn’t shut up, and the long slow kiss Hawke was giving her wasn’t helping, and then she was _coming_ and she didn’t have to think about it anymore.

When she came down from the giddy haze Hawke was fingering herself, working herself up and down on Fenris’ cock with little gasping cries.  Fenris lifted her up— _so he could see Hawke’s face_ , she realized, and suddenly she felt like an intruder—only to pull her right back down after Hawke came undone with a cry, stars of light flashing in the air for an instant before the lighting fading back to a dull blue glow.

She could tell Fenris was close when he started having trouble multitasking, his body clearly much more interested in what was going on below.  He gave it a valiant effort, nearly wringing another orgasm out of her before she moved away and took over with her own fingers in favor of watching the last moments of their joining.

He grabbed Hawke by the wrist and pulled her down, crushing her mouth against lips still wet with Isabela’s slick.  His hips bucked up, straining to plunge every last inch inside in the final seconds before he came with a groan, balls pulsing as he spurted deep inside Hawke.

Isabela had been hoping they weren’t the “one round” type, and it was with great pleasure that she found herself being dragged down to lie next to them, Hawke slipping off of Fenris and rolling on top of her with a little smirk.

“ _Squishy,_ ” she whispered with a juvenile grin, pressing their fronts together before settling off to the side, Isabela’s arm nestled between her breasts.  And then Fenris was kissing her ear and Hawke was nipping her neck, hands roaming over her and across her to fondle each other.   They lay there for a while, leisurely touching, hands running across skin, fingers meeting and briefly entwining before venturing off to explore some new camber of flesh.

It seemed like only a minute had passed before Isabela could feel Fenris hardening against her thigh, though she was aware their hands had covered far too much ground for her perception of time to be accurate.  Hawke trailed her fingers against the length of him in her perusal of Isabela’s right thigh and he groaned, hand sliding down from what had been a teasing trace of Isabela’s collarbone to knead her tits instead.

“I want to watch Fenris fuck you,” Hawke whispered hotly in her ear, loud enough for Fenris to hear.

Isabela moaned happily, arching into their hands on her.  “I’m certainly _up_ for it, if he is.”

“He is,” Fenris rumbled against her neck, grinding the evidence against her thigh.

Hawke rolled away with one last nip to Isabela’s ear, giggling.  “So…” she mused, staring at them and the bed with a look of flushed concentration.

“Up against the headboard, sweet thing,” Isabela instructed, crawling after her as she complied.

“You’re so _good_ at this, Isabela,” Hawke said happily, looking over Isabela’s head to convey something to Fenris via a series of head jerks and brow wags.  Isabela felt his hands settle on her hips, the fat head of his cock prodding at her drenched pussy.

She clenched in anticipation of a thrust that didn’t come.  He just hovered there, one hand going to his cock so he could _tease_ her with it—nudging her inner lips open and then withdrawing before she could push back onto him, sliding back and forth over her clit with just enough pressure to drive her mad.

Hawke was _smirking_ , trailing her nails down Isabela’s neck.  Her other hand was sneaking under the covers—clearly trying to be subtle, but _really_.  Isabela could cheat at cards _naked_ ; there wasn’t much that got by her.  Hawke was doing _something_ , fingers moving under the sheets, but—

— _lightning_ streaked down her spine (not literally, at least she didn’t think literally but— _Andraste’s flaming tits_ ) and her knees threatened to buckle as a buzzing erupted between her clit and the head of Fenris’ cock.  He gasped, pushing forward for a moment before backing away.  The humming intensified, liquid heat flooding her thighs and she was _coming,_ the vibrations backing off and leaving her loins throbbing with a hungry pleasure, her cunt achingly empty— _split open_ , Fenris’ cock plunging inside her, groaning ragged above her as he stretched her open.

She almost came again on the spot— _did_ , as he slid back and drove forward, one, two, three glorious strokes rubbing over all the sensitive spots inside her.  She looked up to find Hawke’s grin immensely smug, hands demurely in front of her as though she hadn’t been magicking Isabela’s nethers not a minute prior.  She would look almost collected if not for the way her thighs were clenched together, hips squirming in tiny movements that left no doubt what she’d rather be doing with her hands.

Isabela grabbed those pretty thighs and _spread_ , letting Fenris’ weight pitch her forward so she could bury her face between them.  She sucked Hawke’s clit between her lips, relishing the surprised moan above her and the hands that quickly buried themselves in her hair.

Fenris’ next thrusts were careful, measured, his fingers aborting a stealth mission to her clit in favor of holding her hips firmly in place.  She groaned her displeasure into Hawke’s folds, trying and failing to push back onto him at her own pace.  (Normally she found having a strong lover all sorts of delicious, but not when they _abused_ it.)

“She’s not going to break my twat with her face, Fenris,” Hawke said with a breathy chuckle.  “Fuck her harder.”

Fenris’ hands left her hips and he bent over her, one arm wrapping around her waist to brace her before he slammed forward, balls slapping against her ass as she pitched forward into the cradle of Hawke’s thighs.  And she was promptly being _pounded,_ Fenris’ cock plunging into her at a deliciously savage pace.

Hawke’s hands moved from her hair to stroke over her neck and shoulders, letting her readjust and brace herself on her elbows.  Properly steadied, she thrust two fingers into Hawke’s cunt, still dripping with Fenris’ come, and worked them in and out to the rhythm of his thrusts as she swirled her tongue over Hawke’s clit.

“Nn, _Isabela_ ,” Hawke moaned, and Isabela ignored the way Fenris’ hand faltered on her side at that, the same way she ignored just how _sweet_ it felt to hear Hawke moaning her name.

And then it was a lot easier, with Fenris’ free hand moving from her side to slip between her legs, and Hawke trailing off into a series of incoherent gasps and wails, and it could have been any two people if she closed her eyes, except it wasn’t, it was _Hawke and Fenris_ , and—

And then Hawke was spasming around her fingers, sparkling bursts dancing at the corners of her eyes as Hawke pulled her head up and attacked her with a kiss.  Fenris was gasping something in Tevinter, rolling her clit between his fingers as he pistoned in and out of her sopping cunt.  She moaned into Hawke’s mouth, clenching around him as his movements grew more frenzied.  He pressed himself against her, face buried in the nape of her neck as she had one of the _best fucking orgasms of her life_.

They lay there for a while in a pile of damp flesh and gasps and fading blue light before any of them were quite collected enough to speak.

“I…vote we do this again,” Hawke panted, untangling herself up only to flop backwards onto the pillows.  Fenris pulled himself up after her and she cuddled up against his side—something uncomfortably like disappointment clenched in Isabela’s gut, and she was halfway to reaching for her knickers with a flippant remark on her lips when she noticed the lyrium-lined hand waiting to pull her up after them.

She wasn’t quite ready to think about why she took it.

\---

“I heard something interesting from Aveline the other day,” Fenris said after a while.  Isabela was in the middle of contemplating how studly he looked, lounging on Hawke’s decadent bed with a woman in each arm, but she dropped that line of thought long enough to make a vague noise of interest.

“Your late friend Castillon’s ship has been abandoned in the harbor for over a month now.  Aveline said that if no one comes forward with proof of ownership soon, it will be going up for auction.”

“Fine, so it was stupid to turn down the ship because of insufficient bragging rights,” Isabela grumbled, still too well-fucked to muster any actual animosity.  “’m glad you didn’t let me let him go,” she murmured, much more quietly.  “Hawke and Fenris—my favorite infuriating conscience.”

“Anytime,” Fenris said, and Hawke made a contented noise of agreement.

“So we agree it was stupid to turn the ship down?” Hawke asked.  “Perfectly good ship, lacking only a bitter former captain to spread drunken rants of your glory in every port?”

“That’s what I just _said_ ,” Isabela snapped.  “You don’t need to rub it in.”

“I was just checking,” Hawke said, her face (or what Isabela could see of it over Fenris’ torso) comically wounded.  “The deed was in with the rest of his papers.  It’s been in the study waiting for you to decide you want it.”

“I’ve already shown it to Aveline,” Fenris added.  “She was—unwilling to be persuaded to waive the accumulated docking fees, however.”

“ _Augh_ ,” Isabela groaned.  “Why do you have to be so disgustingly _nice_?  You’re just _giving_ me the ship, after everything I’ve done?” _And just when I’m not entirely sure I want to leave?_ she added in her head before mentally kicking whatever part of her subconscious had come up with _that_.

Fenris coughed.  “Our motives aren’t… _entirely_ altruistic.”

“You’ve seen the state Kirkwall is in,” Hawke said, sitting up to speak to Isabela more directly.  “I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stay in Meredith’s good graces.  An escape route would be—handy.  Something long term, of course—preferably with a lot of moving around, maybe some exotic travel?”  She batted her eyelashes at Isabela with a wink.  “That is, if you’ll have us.”

Isabela was almost ready to think about why she said yes.


End file.
